


triangle (making love in three dimensions)

by caravaggiosbrushes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: (fitzconte), (fitzier), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Francis POV, Friends With Benefits, Gay Sex, James POV, Kissing, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Shameless Smut, Slash, Smut, The More The Merrier, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, also...le viscrozier??, dont judg me i just want my favourite characters to have a happy happy time, messy sex, tagging it also as fitzier and fitzconte even if they aren't included in rare pair week, the main thing is FITZIERCONTE anyway, yes we have everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caravaggiosbrushes/pseuds/caravaggiosbrushes
Summary: All three reach for the others, hungry for what it’s finally here for them to taste. They kiss in turn, going from one to the other and back again, and it’s wonderfully messy, because James kisses Henry’s lips while Henry is already turning to kiss Francis so he ends up licking at his cheek instead, and Francis somehow ends up kissing both of them at the same time by mistake which makes him chuckle and moan at the same time. They have their arms around each other: Henry’s hand is on Francis’ hip and he moves it on his back, kneading his ass with a groan of appreciation, his cock rubbing against Henry’s hip when he brings him closer, then against James’ stomach when James bring him over himself with a sound that Francis recognizes as desperate.-fitziercontemodern AU written forTerror Rare Pair Week 2021day 7 (free space) +Bingo prompt“I’d like to learn more”
Relationships: Francis Crozier & James Fitzjames, Francis Crozier/Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames, Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames/Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, James Fitzjames & Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, James Fitzjames/Henry T. D. Le Vesconte
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33
Collections: The Terror Bingo, The Terror Bingo (2020), The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	1. 1. this is how it starts:

**Author's Note:**

> MAAAAANNNNN I can’t believe I finished this thing. I started it BACK IN AUGUST when the ao3 tag didn't even exist yet and I finally pushed myself to finish it. 
> 
> It’s basically a very long PWP, because i can’t write smut without also writing a long introduction to it, hence the +15k. 
> 
> Probably only me and a couple of other people (ily) are going to read this, but it was WORTH IT, i hope i'll make you see the appeal of this ot3 :-)
> 
> Written for **rare pair week day 7** (free space) and for my [**bingo** **fill**](https://i.ibb.co/s9CSMSg/1613296365947.jpg) _“I’d like to learn more_ ”.
> 
> Thank you Ewa for beta-reading this, as always  ♥
> 
> Enjoy!! Also pretty please write more fitzierconte thanks
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)

_Lui chi è?_

_Come mai l'hai portato con te?_

_Il suo ruolo mi spieghi qual'è?_

_Io volevo incontrarti da sola_

_(...) Il triangolo, no_

_Non l'avevo considerato_

_D'accordo, ci proverò_

_La geometria, non è un reato_

_Garantisci per lui?_

_Per questo amore un po' articolato?_

_Mentre io rischierei_

_Ma il triangolo io lo rifarei_

_Perché no?_

_Lo rifarei_

The first thing Francis notices about Henry Le Vesconte, his boyfriend’s best friend, is that he has (fashionably) grey hair even if he’s (probably) only in his mid-thirties. 

The second thing he notices is that Henry is, objectively speaking, a very attractive man, and his grey hair only seems to enhance that, in a distinctive way.

Henry is tall, with the right amount of muscles in his lean body (especially in his arms, Francis notices), a self-confident smile, a kind of cheeky air all around him. He moves as if he knows perfectly well what he’s doing and he doesn’t need to ask for attention, because he already has it. At least, he sure has Francis’.

"Henry, this is Francis." James' smile is bright and almost giddy when he gestures between them. "Francis, Henry."

"Nice to meet you, Henry." Francis clasps his outstretched hand in his own. Henry has a strong, confident handshake. He shoots Francis a wide grin.

"Ah, at last I've been granted the honor of meeting you."

"Henry." James rolls his eyes, although fondly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What?" He gives James a teasing look. "It's been five months since you started talking non-stop about him, I'd say it was time I got to meet the famous Francis." He smirks back at him: "Fitz has been keeping you hidden like a precious secret."

One of Francis' eyebrows raises on its own accord, "Fitz?"

James huffs a laugh. "Dundy calls me that when he wants to get on my nerves."

Ah, right: _Dundy_ , that's what James calls him. A peculiar nickname for a peculiar man.

Henry grins. "That’s a lie and you know it, Jas.” 

_...Jas?_

Francis' other eyebrow reaches her companion high up on his forehead.

"Don't call me that." James says, failing to hide his smile, "You know what happens when you call me like that."

And what's _that_ supposed to mean? 

The two of them share a smile that Francis can’t decipher, clearly referring to something he doesn’t know about. It feels like he’s watching the scene from the wrong side of a glass wall, as if he’s missing the point of what they’re saying. Henry and James are lifelong friends and they have shared many things and life experiences, James has told him so, it’s not a secret, really. It’s fine.

Well, maybe it’s not _that_ fine, because Henry (or _Dundy_ , or whatever the hell _Jas_ calls him) is smiling comfortably, completely at ease with the situation, as if he were the master of the house, instead of a guest at Francis’ place (which is more and more becoming Francis _and James’_ place, in these last months). He's talking about something Francis fails to follow, lost as he is in observing the two of them together: the way James looks at his friend with a bright light in his eyes, one that Francis has never seen before and he's smiling widely, laughing at every single one of Henry's jokes (Francis decides he's not going to call him _Dundy_ ), clearly enjoying his company. Which, again, is fine. They’re friends, they probably have a bunch of stories that only the two of them know about, adventures to recall from when they travelled around the world together, in their late twenties.

All Francis has seen of the world is his birthplace, a bit of England and bloody Antarctica. 

He feels his skin prickle with discomfort, but he’s shaken out of his thoughts by the two men’s laughters, deep and rich in sound, perfect together. James must have said something particularly hilarious, because Henry clasps a hand in between his shoulder blades and leans toward him, laughing along with him (“Oh my God, you remember _that_? Francis, has Jas told you about it?”), and this would be fine, really, if only he wouldn’t be in James’ personal space. James doesn't flinch, doesn’t move an inch back: he looks entirely comfortable with how close they are, even when Henry hides his face in James’ shoulder at a particularly clever joke.

Francis likes most of James' friends: the closest ones, like Graham, and the ones he's met very briefly only once or twice, like that grumpy but nice Ned Little.

So he was okay, excited even, at the idea of finally meeting James' best mate, this Henry Le Vesconte guy. Now that he has actually met him, though? He's not so sure he likes him, even if he’s damn hot— _especially_ because he’s damn hot and self-confident and brilliant and he always has the right thing to say. 

He’s nothing like Francis. _Francis_ is nothing like him, and knowing that James has been close to him for years and years, before he even knew about Francis’ mere existence, it’s weird to digest. He knows it’s not Henry’s fault, or James’, but he can’t shake the feeling of discomfort away as he watches the way Henry leans toward James, how he places a hand on James’ knee, playfully shoving him on the shoulder. It has Francis wondering if James shouldn’t be with someone as young and witty as Henry, insead of him. 

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Francis." Henry says later, when he’s leaving. 

He's still smiling. _How_ , Francis asks himself, and _how_ does that smile still feel genuine and honest, after hours of him wearing it? He hates that he finds it charming.

"I hope Jas is not going to hide you away again, now that his secret is out.” Henry looks closely at him and adds: “It would be a shame."

" _Dundy_." James arches an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

Something passes between the two of them and once again Francis feels like he’s been forced to watch something he’s not included in, not getting the meaning of whatever they’re discussing without words.

He can barely force a smile while saying goodbye.

And then, if everything wasn't already enough, Henry hugs James in a big, full-body embrace, both men smiling sincerely, their arms tight around each other's back and waist (one of Henry's big hands wraps confidently on James' hip) and then, _then_ , fucking Henry Le Vesconte also kisses James -Francis’ James,- on the cheek.

_Two times._

James easily pats him on the back while stepping away from their hug, completely at ease.

Francis is as stiff as a piece of wood while Henry gives him a hug, standing there awkwardly, feeling out of place in his own house. He resolves to weirdly pat him on the shoulder, feeling the muscles underneath the fabric of his slim-cut shirt.

Henry is _still_ smirking when he leaves.

▲

In the following days James acts as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, so naturally Francis does the same, because he's an adult and that's what he does when he's worried about something.

Eventually though, he gets too worked up and can’t stand the silence any longer, so a couple of days later he crosses his arms defensively in front of his chest and says, using his most casual tone: “You and Henry look very close.”

James lifts his gaze from the pasta he's been cooking for dinner and gives him a surprised look. Then, his face opens up into a genuine smile, gaze lost. 

“We are," he nods, "he’s my best mate, I told you.”

As if that would be enough of an explanation for their back and forth of jokes and affectionate nicknames and all of those touches and those _kisses_.

"Mh." Francis all but grunts, "and all those nicknames you have for each other?"

James keeps stirring the pasta sauce, focused on his task. "What about them?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Francis snaps, " _Jas._ "

He knows he’s being passive-aggressive, which is something he hates with every ounce of his being, because he used to act like this all the time when he was drinking, and just like back then he _knows_ he’s being kind of a bitch about this, but he just can’t stop obsessing over it, like poking at a scratch until it becomes an open wound.

Luckily, James knows him well and he’s a very patient man when it comes to him, along with being the best person Francis knows, so he doesn’t lose his patience.

"What's the problem with that?” He looks briefly at Francis, expression confused. “It's kind of an inside joke of ours."

"You two seem to have a lot of those."

At this, James stops cooking. He puts the wooden spoon down and turns to look at him.

"What's the matter, Francis? I have nicknames for you too."

"Yeah, that’s—” _The point,_ he wants to say. _That’s the point, I’m a selfish bastard and I want you all for myself, I don’t want you to get tired of me because there’s someone else out there better than me._

“Nevermind." He says. "Why did he kiss you?"

"What?" James’ eyes widen. "When?"

"When he was leaving, the other day.”

"Oh, _that_." He seems to relax and offers an easy shrug. "Henry has lived in Italy for some time, a few years ago. He picked it up from there. They say goodbye like that."

Of course bloody Henry Le Vesconte has also lived in Italy.

Francis grunts again. 

"So he always kisses you? Every time he sees you?"

James looks both confused and speechless for a moment. He puts both hands on his hips, squaring his shoulders.

"Francis." He says, facing him, “what’s this? Are you—”

“ _Don’t_ say—”

“—jealous?"

Francis sighs. That was what ruined him and Sophia (along with… a number of other things), and he still hates being called that.

"I’m not." 

It sounds defensive even to his own ears, but the fact is that he really isn’t jealous, or well, he is, but not that much, there is something else that makes him uneasy about Henry Le Vesconte and James, but he can’t exactly pinpoint what it is.

"Mmh." James studies him, narrowing his eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nods.

"I just wanted to ask why he kissed you and you didn't say anything, as if it was normal."

"It _is_ normal, Francis." He insists. “It was just a kiss on the cheek.”

“Two.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” He sighs heavily, feeling the beginning of a headache pounding at his temples. 

This isn't what he envisioned this day to be like, for God’s sake. He wanted to spend his Sunday with James, watching a shitty movie on the telly while snogging his boyfriend senseless on the couch, as if they were ten years younger, but apparently it was too much to hope for. The worst part is that he has no one to blame but himself and he bloody knows it.

James stares at him in obvious bewilderment.

“Francis.” He says, calmly, _too_ calmly. “I hope you’re not saying I should stop seeing Henry.”

“What— God, _no_.” He rushes to say, shocked. “Fuck no, I would never ask that of you. That wasn’t it—”

“Then _what_ is it?”

That’s a good question. 

Francis opens his mouth to answer, but he doesn’t know what to say exactly, so he ends up with half-formed thoughts, feeling more like an idiot with every word.

“Just— seeing how easily you two get along together, and, I don’t know, you two looked so— _right_ together, you’re both handsome and young and you’ve known each other for years and..." 

And what? He passes a hand over his face, feeling like he just made a huge mess out of nothing.

James has his eyebrows knitted together in clear confusion.

“I’m not sure I’m following you.”

Francis isn’t sure he’s following himself either.

“Christ, it’s just…” He shakes his head, trying to find the right words. “I’m just so scared all the time, with you.”

They fall into a sudden silence that seems to stretch in between them, pulling James farther away from him.

God, what he’d do to rewind the last twenty minutes and change them.

“Why?” James simply asks in the end.

“Because,” he wills himself to speak even if he’d like nothing more than to bury himself under a pile of blankets and disappear. “I just had _this_. What if I’m going to lose it after such a short time?”

James’ face and posture soften at once.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He whispers.

He covers the distance between them and takes Francis’ clammy hands in his own.

‘Sweetheart’ is a pet name Francis usually uses for James, not the other way around, because it makes his face burn with embarrassment. He doesn’t say anything this time, but makes sure to relish James’ comforting hold on his hands and let go of a heavy breath he didn’t notice he was holding.

James starts tracing slow circles with his thumbs on the back of Francis’ hands. When he speaks again, his voice is calm and reassuring.

“I mean, if you keep getting stuck in your head like this I’m going to have a hell of a time to unwind every single one of your worries,” he smiles softly, “so please, stop getting stuck in your thoughts, because I sure don’t want to leave.”

Francis nods, feeling both incredibly stupid and incredibly blessed.

“Yes. Alright.” He rests his forehead against James’. “I’m sorry. I know it sounded bad the way I said it, but I _do_ trust you.”

“As you should,” James holds his gaze, “because I don’t have eyes for anyone else except for an Irish man with golden hair and clear blue eyes and a big, big, warm—”

“ _James_.”

“ _—heart_ , I was going to say heart, my dear.” 

They end up giggling soflty nose to nose and Francis feels so stupid for having wasted this much time worrying about something that’s not even real. 

James is here. He’s not going anywhere. He’s not going to leave. Everything else comes after this. There is no real problem.

“Now, am I wrong or you just called Dundy _handsome_?"

"Christ, let me live." Francis feels his ears getting warm.

James chuckles, tightening his hold around Francis’ hands. "Never. You can say he's handsome, you know? There's nothing wrong with that. He is a handsome man."

"Yeah, I've noticed."

James stares at him and it looks like he’s going to say something else, his eyes glinting; but then he just lowers his gaze and the impression passes. He slowly strokes the longer streaks of Francis’ hair, over his ear. His breath is warm like a caress on Francis’ mouth.

"You know," James starts, his voice playful, "Henry is very touchy-feely."

Francis' eyes shoot up on his face. James goes on.

"He would kiss me in a heartbeat if I'd ask—"

"James.”

"—in fact, he's very enthusiastic—"

" _James_."

James pushes him against the counter.

"Christ, it’s so hot when you get jealous of other men." He says on his lips, pasta sauce entirely forgotten on the stove. "It makes me feel special," he grinds his hips down on him, "and yours."

"You are special," Francis says on his lips, "and mine." 

He sucks a mark on the side of James’ neck, purposefully using a lot of teeth. "No one else's."

James sighs. "Yes." He tightens his hold around Francis’ shoulders, "just yours. You know that."

Francis stops kissing his neck to look him in the eye. He nods, making sure James sees how sure he is about this. “I do.”

James smiles on his lips before kissing him again.

Francis places his lips against his ear and whispers: "how do you feel about getting fucked on the kitchen table?"

James jerks his hips against him.

"Christ, Francis." He hides his face against his neck, "I won't be able to eat here anymore without getting hard."

Francis pushes him toward the table, relishing in how James' breath falters. 

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the quote at the beginning is from the iconic [_Triangolo_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY50q0PE32w)by Renato Zero aka the italian David Bowie ([English version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IiDzI0uiv4w)). the song is literally about a threesome (M/F/M tho) 
> 
> \- of course I had bloody Henry Le Vesconte living in Italy for some time 
> 
> \- every single one of your kudos and comments make Francis and James spend more time in the kitchen not caring about the pasta sauce ;)


	2. 2. this is how it goes on:

"Have you had sex with him?"

James almost chokes on his iced coffee.

"Excuse me? Who?" He glances at the tv, currently playing _Mission Impossible_. "Tom Cruise?"

Francis shoves him on his shoulder. "No, you git." He forces himself to say: "Le Vesconte."

They’ve seen Henry a couple of other times after that first day and everything went surprisingly well: now that Francis knows for a fact that Henry and James are simply used to be very physically affectionate with one another and Henry isn’t flirting with James, he finds it easy, even nice to watch them together: they have such an easy relationship that is a pleasure to be with them. There is also the fact that both of them are a sight to behold on their own and even more when together. Plus, Henry is really great company when Francis actually listens to him with no prejudice to cloud his mind: he’s funny, smart, and when he talks to Francis it feels like there is nothing else he’d like to do more than that. 

(“He tends to have that effect on people, don’t worry,” James smiled, amused, when he told him so, “You’re not immune to the _charme_ , darling.”)

It’s still somewhat strange to have James talking about something only he and Henry know about, but now that Francis doesn’t have any reserve about his boyfriend’s best friend anymore he sees how both James and Henry always make sure to include him in their conversations, explaining what they’re referring to and making a show out of it: the two of them love being the centre of the attention and there’s nothing Francis likes more than being in pleasant company while not being under the spotlight, so this is the perfect balance for him.

To be honest, he only had to admit out loud that he found his boyfriend’s best friend attractive, because that was a big part of why he was feeling uneasy: he’s so used to have eyes for James and James only, it’s been like this for years now, from a long time before they actually got together, that he forgot what it’s like to look at someone who’s not James and think that they are handsome and hot and he wouldn't mind touching them. 

After that, it was easier to watch the two of them together and his conclusion upon doing so is that his boyfriend and Henry Le Vesconte had sex at some point: they have that unmistakable chemistry you only develop with someone who made you helpless and desperate from pleasure, someone who’s seen what face you make at the cusp of pleasure. 

Even if Francis had time to digest it, this kind of conversation is still uncharted territory for both him and James, so he’s not sure how James is going to react. He almost expects him to laugh it off, saying something like ‘ _still thinking about it, Francis? Are you sure you’re not the one who wants to get in Henry’s pants?’_ but James is strangely quiet for a long moment.

"Why do you think that?" He says at length.

"I told you. You two look very close."

James shifts in his chair. He reaches for Francis’ hand, but stops mid-motion and takes his own hand back. Francis takes both of his hands in his own, even if James’ silence makes his heart jump in his throat. Whatever this is, he’s going to listen to him, like James has listened to his inconclusive ramblings a few days ago. He owes him this much. They’re going to sort it out, whatever it takes.

James lets out a heavy breath and turns his hands in Francis’, resting his thumbs on his knuckles.

"It was years ago." James clears his throat. "And it never became anything serious, we've always been just friends and still are." He risks a look at Francis, "I wanted to tell you and I was planning to do so after you've met him, but you just seemed to dislike him so much that I couldn't bring myself to do it and then it was too late, and I—" He lowers his gaze, "I've been a coward, Francis. I was scared like hell."

Francis frowns. "Of what?"

"Your reaction."

Francis’ heart sinks.

"Are you," it's hard to even say it, so he spits it out: "in love with him?"

James takes his hands away from his. "Christ, _no_ . Do you really think I would be here with you, if I was in love with someone else?" He gets louder, clearly offended, "do you think I would do something like that? To _you_?"

"No, I just—"

"As I said, it was years ago," he keeps going, moving his hands while he speaks to make himself more clear, like he always does when he’s really focused on what he’s saying, "and even back then, we were never together, never in a relationship. Alright?"

"Alright. Sorry, I..." He takes a deep breath. "It's just a lot, hearing you say it."

There’s a moment of silence where they just stare at each other, their breaths heavy as if they just runned a marathon.

"Francis." James says. His voice sounds definitive. "I can't and I don't want to deny what happened in the past, but that's what it is: the past. My present is this," he moves a hand in between them, from him to Francis and vice versa.

"Even if Henry is far more handsome than I am?" He means it as a joke to break the tension, but James sounds deadly serious when he speaks.

"Henry is a handsome man, but God, if you could only see yourself as I see you.” He takes Francis’ hands in his own again. “You're worthy just as much as him. And you _are_ handsome, Francis, good God, you make me feel like a teenager again, always thinking about his incredibly hot crush. I spend my days just thinking about you, I don’t know how you don’t see it."

Francis bends his head to kiss his hand, silently telling him _I’m sorry I’m this blind, it just never happened to have you before, and now that I_ do _have you I still need to learn how to act, being the richest man on earth, because not even in my wildest dreams you were with me_. 

“Thank you for indulging my questions again.” He whispers on his knuckles.

“Just don’t make it a habit.” James places a hand over his. “Not because I have something to hide, but because you don’t deserve to worry about something that could never even become a problem.” 

This time is James the one who kisses Francis’ hand, softly. 

“It’s just me and you.”

Francis kisses him on the lips, a chaste touch. “You and me.”

James nods, reassuring and wonderful as only he can be.

▲

"So what exactly did the two of you experiment together?"

James stops typing on his MacBook. His long fingers rest on the keyboard.

"Are you sure you want to know about this?"

"I am."

And he really is, strangely enough. 

The confirmation that James and Henry have had sex in the past was initially sour under Francis’ tongue, but only for a minute: after that, something else transpired while he was trying to picture James and Henry together: he felt a thrill at the idea of watching it.

He came to terms with it and now that the surprise has dissipated, it has left room to an almost morbid curiosity and Francis just wants to _know_ more about it, he’s starving for it.

James seems to consider it for a moment. Then, he leans towards Francis. 

"We were young and it started as a thing we did to try stuff out, since neither of us had that much experience." He smiles, gaze lost in the past, "so we…” he glances at Francis, as if expecting to be stopped. When that doesn’t happen, he goes on. “Well, firstly, we did a lot of kissing. The easy ones and the very wet ones. You know when you're young and you could spend hours just snogging someone without getting bored?”

"Is it boring for you now?" _With me? Am I boring to you?_

"Never." James smiles and kisses him soundly on the cheek. "Kisses are crucial to me and the way you kiss me sometimes, Francis… I think you could have me come just from that and little less alone."

Francis shifts on the couch.

"Has that ever happened before?" _With him?_

"Never.” James looks at his mouth. “But you seem determined to achieve a lot of my first times." 

"We'll do that." He declares, filing it away for another day (or maybe just for later). "What else?"

James hums, infinitely more relaxed now, clearly enjoying this. He closes his laptop and puts it back on the coffee table. He sounds like his usual confident self when he speaks, facing Francis, his words filling Francis’ mind with _terrible_ images.

"He fingered me a whole fucking lot," James’ chuckle feels like velvet, "made me discover my G-spot. I got a little obsessed with it in the months following that first time."

 _Months_. 

God, Francis is getting hard just by thinking about a young, perpetually horny James, all lanky limbs and red prick hanging heavily in between his trembling thighs, unsure of how to touch himself, how to relieve the newly discovered discomfort of arousal, with Henry's long fingers buried deep inside him, scissoring him open, making his back arch almost painfully on the bed. 

James has mentioned they were both inexperienced and Francis remembered his own first times, the excitement of doing something filthy, the forbidden taste of exploring and conquering a new experience with the person you love -or at least like,- the shared giddiness of trying something for the first time and knowing that the other person has decided to experience the exact same thing with _you._ It’s easy to picture 20-something James and Henry touching each other everywhere, determined to discover which places work best for the other, what touch makes them jump and leak and sigh, what does the other crave and want and can’t possibly get enough of.

"How many could you take back then?" Francis asks, his heartbeat loud in his ears, "of his fingers."

"Just as many as I take now." James grins.

Four.

"What else," Francis asks again, feeling like he can’t possibly get enough of this. "Did you let him fuck you?"

"Sometimes,” he shrugs as if they were discussing the weather, “but it wasn't our go-to choice. Too much of an effort, we were more on the fumbling side, rutting against each other until we both came, jerking each other off, blowing each other. Messier but faster." He chuckles, "God, I had no patience back then."

Francis has a hard time keeping track of every single thing James mentions, because, well, it’s _a lot._ In a very good way.

"Did you fuck him?" He hears himself asking.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fear the answer at all: it happened years ago, Francis has no claim to that and more so, he doesn’t feel the need to have it. He just wants to _know_.

James holds his gaze, a low fire burning in his eyes.

"A couple of times." He licks his lips, "but you know that's not my favourite thing. It wasn't at the time, either."

“I know.” He can’t resist anymore, so he palms himself over his jeans. James' gaze falls on his hand, following its every movement, his eyes widening. He licks his lips in that tick he has when he’s hungry for Francis. “You need a prick to be satisfied.” Francis says, matter-of-factly.

James’ breath hitches, interrupted by his own gasp. 

" _Your_ prick." He says, gaze trained to Francis’ groin. "Perfect for me."

"What about Henry’s?" Francis deadpans, hungry for his answer, "I bet he's got a nice prick too, does he."

James’ hands twitch towards his own groin. 

"Francis—"

"I bet he fucked you, but it was not enough, mmh? Because my prick is the only thing that fills you perfectly."

James swears and all but throws himself on him in a crushing kiss. Then, he drops to his knees, in between Francis' thighs and pushes them apart. “Let me, come on—”

Francis wants it, of course, he wants it all the damn time with him, so he lets James push his legs apart and work his jeans open.

"Or maybe,” Francis says, feeling inspired by the unexpected turn of the conversation, “you'd like _me_ to fuck _him_."

James stops. His eyes shoot up to him.

"Would you, James?" 

"I…" He says. He grinds the heel of his hand on his hard erection, obvious in his pants. "Would you do it?"

"He's a handsome man, it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.” He caresses James’ hair and James’ eyes flutter closed. He buries his nose in Francis’ palm. 

“I would do it if you'd like to watch me slide into him. Perhaps while he sucks you off?"

"Fuck, Francis." James pants, both hands back on him, quickly working his belt open. "It would be so hot. You— _with_ him."

"I would also love seeing you falling apart from a different perspective than usual. I could help Henry with that."

James takes him out and starts kissing the length of him with a blissed expression, breathing deeply. Francis gets a hand to his shoulder to steady himself.

"What would you do?” James whispers, his warm breath makes Francis twitch in his hand, “With his help?"

Francis brings both hands at the sides of his face, threading his fingers in his hair. He loves seeing James at his mercy like this, leaving him control over his own body: Francis could do anything at all, he could pull him toward himself, making him choke on his cock; he could push four fingers into his mouth and his leg in between James’ own, he could order him to hump his leg until he’d come in his pants, could tell him to be as loud as he can or don’t make a sound and James would do it without questioning it, he knows he would.

Francis scratches him behind his ears, as he would with Neptune, and James melts, burying his face against him, mouthing at him.

"There’s a great number of things we could do to you, together.” Francis muses.

“Tell me.” He demands, eyes fixed on Francis’ cock and his own hand moving on it. “Tell me, Francis. What would you do? With him?”

Francis tells him every single one of the things his mind conjures while James sucks him dry and moans around him with abandon, his free hand working in between his own spread thighs in a violent rhythm until his body goes rigid and he shudders through his orgasm, moaning around Francis’ cock.

“I...” James says, later on, when they are both catching their breaths, dozing off on the couch in each other’s arms, “I’d love that.”

▲

They don’t really talk about it, after. 

Not that there is much to talk about: it’s just one of the many fantasies they share, it doesn’t have to be _discussed_ and if Francis occasionally finds himself lingering on it, that’s certainly not a problem (quite the contrary, in fact: one time, when Francis is buried deep into James, he can’t stop himself from saying “Henry would love to see you undone like this, I bet,” which makes James come violently, making a mess of the sheets).

Except for those rare moments, they don’t mention it again, so when a few days later James says "Henry said you're hot,” Francis is _not_ expecting it and it’s his turn to almost choke on his coffee.

"Excuse me?" He rasps when he can breathe again. If his face feels warm, it’s simply because he’s trying to regain his breath.

"Don't act all surprised like that, Francis.” James looks at him up and down, as if he’s contemplating his next meal. “You are."

"One thing is you telling me that, another is _Henry Le Vesconte_."

"Well, deal with it my darling,” he leans forward and gives him a peck on the lips, "You are extremely hot."

"James—"

"Burning hot, in fact," he whispers, "and so fucking sweet too, like melted caramel—"

"Yes, but, _James_ ," he tries to think with his head instead of his cock, "why were you two talking about me?"

James stops messing with him and moves back, his gaze soft.

"Because you're my partner and I apparently always talk about you with everyone." He smiles. "Because I'm very proud of having you."

Something in Francis melts. He takes James' hand in his own and holds it tightly, pulling him closer to himself, kissing under his ear, saying without words how much he appreciates having _this_ with _him_. 

James purrs and rests his temple against his and for a moment they just breathe in each other’s presence.

Then James breaks the silence.

"If you want to know, we were talking about you because I told Henry what we’ve discussed—"

Good Christ.

" _No_ , James—"

"He was very enthusiastic."

Francis stares at him.

"Really?"

"Really."

Well. That's… something to consider, for sure.

"I see."

"Before you can say anything, I didn't push him.” James says, “He said that you're hot and I'm very lucky to have you, which I agreed too." (Francis squeezes his hand at this), "Then he said you're very lucky to have me, too."

He was expecting that. It still sends a thrill along his spine.

"Because Henry likes you and he thinks you're hot, too."

"Yes." 

"Now the remaining question is,” James looks at him with a very interested expression, “Do you like Henry? Do _you_ think he’s hot?"

"Darling," Francis says, "I have functioning eyes."

▲

After that, they talk about it, again and again. In fact, the topic casually comes up in daily conversations at first and with every mention they get closer to what Francis later understands has been their shared goal since the beginning.

“You would like to be with him again.” He says at some point.

“ _Not_ in a relationship.” He clarifies, honesty written in every line of his face, “but to have sex with him again? Yes, I’d like that.” 

There’s no tension or anxiety in neither of their voices, no fear or apprehension.

Francis smiles and keeps playing with his hair.

“I’d like that too.” He says, “I’ve never done anything like this, but better later than never, right?”

James beams at him. 

“If it’s with me, then absolutely yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- look at them having fun, being so married even if they are not (yet).... i love them…
> 
> \- see you at the next and last part! thank you so much for reading  ♥ 


	3. 3. this is how it happens:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we did it!! Kudos to you if you've made it this far <3 get ready for a mess of a chapter lol

They decide for a Friday night, at Francis’ place. 

They set the day, the time, taking the opportunity to get tested again, emailing the results to each other, getting everything ready.

It’s a bit weird to _schedule_ sex, but it’s the right option in this case, easier for all three of them instead of waiting an indefinite period of time for it to naturally happen. 

The only downside is that when the day comes, Francis is jittery for the entire time, has trouble focusing even on the simplest tasks and work feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done.

James is already home when he finally gets there (Francis has given him the key a month ago, fearing for a reaction like Sophia’s but wanting to do it nevertheless. James had surprised him by throwing himself in his arms, smiling so broadly that their kiss was actually a messy affair), and he looks like a million bucks: he’s wearing his dark skinny jeans, Francis’ favourites, and that paisley printed shirt Francis got him a couple of months ago, the one he likes to wear with the first few buttons undone.

Francis goes to kiss him and can't resist the temptation of burying his nose in his curls, right under his ear, making him squirm because it’s one of his ticklish spots.

“Ready?” James asks with a big, excited smile. The question is genuine, anticipation clear in his eyes.

“Definitely.” 

He kisses James slowly, placing both hands on his lower back. James sighs on his lips, leaning onto him. After a minute, he pushes Francis away, keeping his arms straight in front of himself as a barrier between them.

“You terrible man,” he says, “Henry is not going to be here until after dinner. Don’t tempt me.”

“Why not?” Francis smiles, “It could be fun, seeing how much we can push you.”

“ _Francis_ .” James whines, closing his eyes. “God, go take a shower or— _something_.”

He actually pushes him toward the bathroom, keeping him at arm’s length. Francis does as he's told, chuckling to himself.

He really takes a shower first things first, wiping the endless day of work away, and changes into a dark blue jumper and light grey pants, comfortable and casual, but still nice. 

Once he’s back in the kitchen, James looks at him from head to toe and keeps silent, but his ‘ _I can’t wait to have_ you _for dinner_ ’ look is eloquent enough that Francis feels himself blush as if it was their first date all over again.

“I feel like a kid on Christmas day.” James chuckles at some point while they’re eating. 

“Ready to be spoiled rotten?” 

He pushes his socked feet in between Francis’ own, hooking it behind his ankle under the table. He drains the remaining of his red wine without breaking eye contact and licks his lips with intent. 

“Goddamnit." He says, shaking his head a little, "I really hope Dundy will be here soon.”

“Christ, me too.” Francis agrees, letting his forehead rest on James’ shoulder, because if he looks at him and his damned half-unbuttoned shirt any longer he’s going to kiss him and have him for dessert.

Cleaning up while being so close to James, knowing what’s about to happen but having to wait for it, turns out to be a torture of the best kind: now that they are so close to it the tension in the kitchen is electric, Francis gets a shock every time James all but brushes his hand against his while he’s doing the dishes, just like when they weren’t together yet and Francis lived for those accidental touches.

Suddenly, James is behind him, his voice low, close to Francis’ ear.

“You’re as stiff as a piece of wood, my love,” he murmurs, placing both hands on Francis’ hips, “We have to wait for Henry, but I’d say you can have a taste of what’s coming, as a bonus.”

Francis groans, “I’m not sure I can stop if I start.”

He turns into his arms and finds him with clear arousal painted on his face, his eyes dark.

They reach for the other at the same time, the kiss hard and needy as if they’d been separated for weeks.

James groans on his lips.

“Dundy better fucking _move_.” He says, their forehead pressed together, both of them somewhat breathless.

“In the meantime,” Francis says, stroking his thumb in circular motions on James’ bicep, “Why don’t you tell me what the two of you used to do together? I’d like to learn more of that.”

James hums, satisfied with the request. He takes a moment to think about it.

“I can tell you about the last time we've been together.”

Francis nods immediately.

“Well, the last time we’ve been together _consistently_ was years ago, but” he makes a dramatic pause, so Francis pokes him in the ribs, making him squirm, “ _but_ , as I was saying, there’s been something else, maybe a year ago. I already knew you back then,” James says, surprising him. “And it happened _because_ of you.”

Francis is even more intrigued. “Go on.” 

James fiddles with his shirt cuff as he speaks.

“I was apparently desperate for this guy who just wouldn’t notice me. I was doing my very best to make him look at me, but nothing seemed to work,” he says, “So one day, after another inconclusive attempt, I complained to Henry so much that he had to fuck me to shut me up.” He chuckles.

Francis swallows with some difficulty, picturing that.

“You never told me.”

“I never told anyone.” James says, “About being obsessed with you since day one.”

It’s when Francis kisses him again that the interphone rings.

James beams at him, “I’ll get it.”

He squeezes his hand and goes answering it.

He wraps an arm around Francis’ middle while they wait for Henry to show up and then, just like that, he’s here, and he looks good, which is nothing new, Henry always looks good, but tonight he looks _good_. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt, coordinated dark blue jacket and pants, and his devastating smile, bright and teasing, as always. 

There’s not even a hint of doubt or indecision on his face.

They’re doing this. Francis couldn’t be more ready for it.

“Hey, Jas.” Henry greets Francis’ boyfriend with one of their usual hugs, which Francis is more than used to by now. He then kisses James on both cheeks, as he always does, but then, as if it were the natural progression of things (and it _is_ ) Henry kisses James on the lips. It’s a chaste kiss, but it’s something both men clearly cherish to the last instant, both of them with their eyes closed, visibly melting into each other’s touch.

During the two, maybe three seconds that this lasts, Francis’ brain stops functioning, because _Jesus bloody Christ on a bike_ , they are the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. And he has seen James in a skirt and heels.

He feels like he’s about to pass out for how quickly and violently his blood rushes in between his legs.

“Dundy.” James says, voice hoarse.

They smile giddily at each other.

Then, Henry brings his attention to Francis and, damn it, how does he do that, how does he make you feel like the most desired person in the room, every single time? It’s like being enveloped in an expensive cloak made of gold.

“Nice to see you, Francis.” He takes a step toward him.

Francis’ heart leaps in his throat at the idea of being kissed by him, which makes him feel like a schoolgirl and he bloody _loves it_. 

Henry goes for a hug instead, so Francis turns his face slightly toward him, his lips brushing Henry’s cheek and says, “You can kiss me too, you now?”

He grins, thrilled. “Can I?” 

Francis doesn’t answer with words, but kisses him instead, just like Henry has kissed James: chaste, mouth closed, the only other touch between them being Francis’ hand on his hip, just resting there to get used to his body. He feels Henry's breath hitch from the surprise and it’s hard not to deepen the kiss.

“Well,” James hugs Francis from behind, pressing his entire body against his back, “Straight to the point, my dear.”

“Why should I delay something good?" Francis asks, looking at Henry's lips.

“Why indeed.” James agrees, “But I’ve been a terrible host, I haven’t even asked our guest if he’d like something to drink? A glass of wine?” His deep voice feels like a caress on Francis’ ear.

“Thank you, I’ll skip that.” Henry grins at him, “Everything I want is already here.”

Francis strains his neck to the side to look at them: they’re smiling at each other like two kids about to do something forbidden for the first time, knowing that they’re gonna love every minute of it.

"James was telling me about the last time you two have been together." Francis says, "But he didn’t get to finish the story."

"Ah, that's a shame." Henry says, gaze knowing. "Then you didn't get to hear about what I did to him." He keeps his eyes trained on Francis, "and what _he_ did to me."

"What was that?" Francis asks, feeling like he's being physically pulled toward Henry's mouth.

"Tell him." James says, his voice vibrating through Francis. "Tell him what I did to you."

"Your James fucked my brains out with his tongue." Henry grins confidently.

Francis swallows with considerable trouble. 

"I would have loved to see that." 

"Well, lucky you: you can." Henry smirks. "You can even lend him a hand."

"Or I could be the one rimming you." He says, feeling alive, ten years younger, ”If you’re down for it.”

There’s a palpable shift in the air then, as if until a moment ago they were still joking about this, but this last sentence has made everything real.

"I'm about to kiss you." Henry says, matter-of-factly. "So if anyone has any second thought about this, this is the moment to speak up."

James is the one who does it.

"Kiss him." 

Henry's mouth is on Francis' at once, his hands on his hips, on his arms, in his hair. _This_ is a real kiss, a first kiss intended to taste the other and explore what they like.

Francis’s heartbeat is loud in his ears, but he can still hear James muttering a “ _fuck_ ” and he distinctively feels his hand on his back, going up at the back of his head, his fingers threading in his hair, and suddenly Francis is being turned toward him and he has just a moment to open his eyes a fraction and see James’ face (pupils huge, lips parted) before he’s been kissed and God, _this:_ being kissed by James after having kissed Henry feels even better than usual, if possible: this is what he loves, everything he truly wants. Henry is a good kisser (he _is_ ), but for as much as Francis is undoubtedly attracted to him, James is James: he’s home, he’s familiar, he’s what Francis wants to look at when he comes back home in the evening, finding him and Neptune curled up on the sofa. 

Francis kisses him with his eyes closed because he knows exactly where to put his hands, where to push his tongue, how hard to suck on his bottom lip to make him tremble in his arms. Henry is a wonderful distraction, a treat, but James is everything else.

“God, you two.” Henry’s voice comes distant to his ears, even if he’s still embracing him, “I can’t decide who I envy the most.”

One of his hands is on Francis, roaming all over his back.

“You don’t have to decide,” James says, voice low and rough, “When you can have both of us at the same time.”

Henry kisses him, finally kisses him for real, making him moan. James threads his fingers in his hair and tightens his hold on Francis’ hand, keeping both of them as close as possible.

They kiss and kiss, their breaths heavier by the minute and Francis can’t stop watching them, he’s hypnotized by the way their tongues slide against one another, the way James’ nose gets a bit squished on Henry’s when he deepens the kiss, how Henry’s hands tighten on James’ arms when he sucks his tongue into his mouth.

It’s as clear as the sun that they know what they’re doing: it’s not a first kiss, it’s a greeting after a long time separated. They know how to move, know each other’s body, and they touch everywhere, looking for what they remember of the other, checking if he still likes this (yes, he does) and this (yes, he does) and this, (yes, _God_ , he does). 

Francis understands Henry’s struggle now, because he too can’t decide what to do first, so he lets his instinct guide him and ends up touching both of them, whatever he can reach of these two wonderful men he’s going to have for the entire night. He buries his face in James’ hair, kissing right under his ear, feeling his jaw moving under his lips for how he’s kissing Henry. 

Then, he moves to Henry’s side, curious to feel him, while James and Henry barely breathe in the kiss, starving for the other. 

Francis kisses the nape of Henry’s neck, where his hair is shorter and Henry purrs in James’ mouth, bringing a hand on the back of Francis’ thigh to keep him close.

They slow down the kiss eventually, until they’re mostly just licking at each others’ tongue and lips with half-lidded eyes for a few moments loger and Francis is almost tempted to stop watching because this is _so much_ to look at.

“Missed you.” Henry whispers on James’ lips.

James smiles with his eyes still closed, looking like a dream. He pushes his face in Henry’s neck, kissing it. Henry wraps both arms around him and keeps James’ face close to himself with a hand in his hair, not pulling at him, but stroking his fingers gently in his hair. He’s about to turn his face toward Francis, but he’s faster and joins James in covering his neck with wet kisses. Henry makes a surprised “ _oh_ ” sound and wraps a arm around Francis as well. 

He smells so fucking good and Francis can’t restrain himself from licking the side of his neck, tearing a low sound out of him. Feeling Henry’s quick pulse under his tongue makes him feel like an addict, adrenaline and euphoria making his blood sing. He turns to James and finds him with burning eyes, sucking a portion of skin under Henry's ear. 

“Come here.” It’s everything Francis manages to say before he pushes a hand in his partner’s hair to bring him in for a messy kiss.

James moans in his mouth and turns toward him like a flower with the sun: he keeps a hand on Henry’s hip, but embraces Francis and places a hand on his ass, palming him generously. 

“We should move this somewhere where I can have both of you on top of me.” James murmurs, leaving kisses on Francis’ mouth and Henry’s cheek, in turn.

“That’s a yes for me.” Henry says, turning to kiss him. “A big yes.”

James smiles on his skin and it’s possibly one of the best versions of him that Francis has ever had the pleasure to see: playful, happy, relaxed and hot as fuck with his cheeks deeply blushed.

“Bedroom.” Francis says, even if he can’t stop touching them.

“Yes, take me to your bedroom, Francis.” Henry grins before kissing him again, making him groan in frustration.

“Stop tormenting him, Dundy.” James chides him and Francis opens his eyes to see him biting playfully at Henry’s ear, like a puppy would.

James takes both Henry’s and Francis’ hands and leads them to the bedroom, smiling like he just got the best gift of his life. 

Once there, he turns around and playfully kisses both their hands before releasing them and walking backwards toward the bed, bringing them with him with a single look.

“How are we doing this?” Francis reaches for him. He kisses James on the cheek and pushes a hand under his shirt. James’ breath falters as he kisses him almost delicately, framing his face with his hands.

“First of all, my love, there are too many clothes in the way.” He breathes on his lips. He untucks Francis’ jumper from his pants and helps him get it out of the way.

“For some reason you two being so overly-sweet with each other feels just right.” Henry says, looking between them. “You make it work really well.”

“I know how to be sweet with you too.” James reaches a hand toward him. Henry takes it and goes to him. James kisses the tip of his nose with a smile and Henry knits his nose in a funny expression, his eyes crossing as he tries to keep James focused. He looks so damn _cute_. 

“I’ll leave that for you two, I’m more than happy with the crazy version of yourself.” Henry smiles, kissing James’ cheek.

They undress each other in a relaxed silence that feels liquid all around them, filled with their shared desires and expectations.

Francis and James undress Henry together: James pushes his jacket off his wide shoulders and Francis pushes his t-shirt over his head in a quick motion, because suddenly he _needs_ to touch him. He places both hands on Henry’s chest and kisses his neck, his collarbones, his shoulders. Henry’s hips buck up to seek a contact that Francis is pleased to notice both he and James deny him. His breath gets shorter, impatient.

James opens Henry’s pants and goes to his knees, making the man swear under his breath, his hands grasping at Francis’ side and James’ shoulder. 

He’s gorgeous like this, only in his black boxers, his erection even more obvious thanks to the close-fit of the fabric. James kisses him through it with his lips parted a couple of times and Henry’s breath catches in his throat. Then, James gets to his feet again, grinning at them. He caresses Henry’s hip: “Later, don’t worry.”

“Fucking tease.” Henry groans.

As in revenge, he sets to undress James with Francis’ help, torturing him with warm kisses and fleeting touches. 

They undress him together, their hands working in perfect rhythm, leaving James naked in a matter of seconds. Francis goes behind him, kneels down (his knees will protest later, but honestly, he couldn’t fucking care less right now) and pushes James’ boxers down. He spreads him open, leaving a kiss to his tailbone and James trembles in Henry’s arms, with a low moan of surprise.

Henry hums, pleased. “What’s Francis doing down there, I wonder?”

“Something I hope he’ll keep on doing.” James says, panting a little because Francis is leaving more kisses on his lower back while stroking his thumb in the crease of his ass.

Francis would love to eat him out right now (James makes the most high-pitched, incredible sounds when he rims him), but he made a promise and he intends to keep it. So after one last kiss he gets to his feet again. 

“Something I promised I’ll do to _you_.” He says, looking at Henry, who swallows thickly. 

James makes a frustrated noise. “And _I’m_ the tease?” 

He nibbles at Francis’ ear and pushes Henry toward the bed. “Make yourself comfortable while I get him naked for you.” He turns to Francis and adds: “And for me, of course.”

“Of course.” He grins at him, delighted with this back and forth between the three of them, that comes surprisingly natural.

He was expecting to feel weird about this, self-conscious about his appearance, even -since the two men about to be in his bed look like supermodels,- or to feel like he’d have to mark his territory from Henry, making clear what’s his and his only; none of this has happened and, if anything, Francis feels even more strongly connected to James. 

Plus, he’s having the time of his life.

He and James share a single look and are on each other in an instant, finally giving in to the anticipation that has tormented them for the entire day. Francis groans in the kiss, without even trying to hide how much he’s enjoying everything, and this especially, finally having James all for himself, even if just for a few seconds, all of him, naked in his arms, his wonderful partner he would never change with anyone else, no matter how many Henrys he’d meet. 

He lets James undress him quickly and efficiently, because they’re both dying to feel each other at this point. He opens his own pants while James gets frustrated with his shirt buttons and ends up pushing the entire thing over his head.

“Yes, _yes_.” James touches him everywhere, ravenous, pushing his body against him, as if trying to fuse them together. 

Francis gets a hand in his hair and, remembering that they have an audience, pulls at it. As predicted, James arches his long neck, a barely-there moan leaving his lips. Francis licks from his collarbone up to his jaw, finishing with sucking a mark next to his Adam’s apple.

“Bed.” James pants, eyelids heavy with desire.

Francis takes his hand. When he finally turns to the bed, he finds Henry laying more than comfortably and gloriously naked in the middle of it, propped up on his elbow. He’s languidly stroking his cock -a gorgeous cock, Francis can’t wait to feel it better,- almost absentmindedly, gaze fixed on them. 

Francis and James get on the bed together. 

All three reach for the others, hungry for what it’s finally here for them to taste. They kiss in turn, going from one to the other and back again, and it’s wonderfully messy, because James kisses Henry’s lips while Henry is already turning to kiss Francis so he ends up licking at his cheek instead, and Francis somehow ends up kissing both of them at the same time by mistake which makes him chuckle and moan at the same time. They have their arms around each other: Henry’s hand is on Francis’ hip and he moves it on his back, kneading his ass with a groan of appreciation, his cock rubbing against Henry’s hip when he brings him closer, then against James’ stomach when James brings him over himself with a sound that Francis recognizes as desperate. 

For an indefinite period of time they just roll on the bed, on and off each other, kissing, licking, touching and smearing saliva on their faces, and precome on their stomachs, on the top of their thighs.

“Alright,” Francis says when it starts becoming too much, mostly to shake himself awake from the burning atmosphere growing around them. He puts both hands on Henry’s hips, who’s laying half on top of James, both of them looking as dazed as Francis feels. “Why don’t you lay down for me? A promise’s a promise.”

“Fuck yes it is.” Henry scrambles to comply, shuffling away from James. He lays down on his front, looking back at them over his shoulder. “Whenever you want.”

Francis positions himself in between his legs and James kisses all over Henry’s back and his shoulder.

“James? D’you want to lend me a hand?” Francis asks, leaving a kiss on Henry’s skin. He jumps slightly under the touch.

“I’m good just watching you two.” James licks his lips in his usual tick and grins, “I won’t get bored. Trust me.”

Francis always trusts him.

He lowers his face on Henry, leaving a light kiss on his opening. Henry squirms under him, but he keeps silent, which only makes Francis the more determined to hear him.

Francis usually loves to take his sweet time when he does this with James (his partner comes apart so well when Francis fucks him with his tongue) but he feels the urgency now, so he starts lapping at him in earnest: gentle at first, to make them both used to the other, then, as soon as he feels Henry’s thighs tensing under his hands and the moans he shushes in the covers, he gives him no rest. He alternates licking and pressing his tongue flat, to caressing with his thumb, gently pushing at it, asking Henry’s body to open up for him. 

Henry keeps surprisingly quiet in bed for someone who’s normally so loud, but Francis knows for a fact that he’s enjoying himself: he’s slightly shaking underneath him, arching his back and pushing his ass against Francis, who’s sweating with the effort of doing a good job and trying not to come because, goddamnit, this is _hot_.

“Fuck— you’re good at it.” Henry pants at last, spreading his legs unconsciously.

It gets even more hot when Francis hears James moaning low and deep, so he lifts his face to look at him and—

James has two fingers buried inside himself, working himself open with impatient movements of his wrist, the little bottle of lube next to him. He’s on all fours, bracing himself on the bed with the elbow he’s resting his forehead on, and he’s looking at Francis with a feverish sort of look, his pupils huge, teeth bared.

“Christ.” Francis swears, dizzy with arousal.

“Yeah.” Both James and Henry say at the same time. 

James chuckles breathlessly.

“I had no idea you look like this,” he says, “Doing this... Francis— so hot—” he grunts in the effort of pushing a third finger in, arching is back. 

Francis can only moan and lick a long strip from Henry’s balls up to his opening while keeping eye contact with James. It makes all three of them moan.

“You’re killing me, man.” Henry tries to reach back for him, but Francis keeps him pinned to the bed with both hands on his hips. Henry buries his face in the covers with a defeated moan.

“I look like what?” Francis asks James.

James slips his fingers out of himself with a frustrated groan, because -Francis knows this,- he can’t reach his G-spot that well on his own. He quickly wipes them on his own thigh, “so hot—” he says again, “beautiful,” he scrambles to kiss Francis’ face with such urgency that one would think he’d need him in order to breathe. 

“James— wait, fuck—” He tries to stop his assault as best he can before James can kiss his lips. “Hold on— Let me go wash my mouth, love.”

James makes a frustrated noise and bites him on the shoulder, but agrees to it nevertheless.

“Quickly.”

Francis nods and gives a parting squeeze to Henry’s ass, who tries to squirm away. He turns on his side, looking at James dazedly. He's got the crease of the covers imprinted on his cheekbone and his mouth is bitten red.

“Keep him warm for me.” Francis says to him.

Henry’s gaze goes to James. He nods slowly. 

“That won’t be a problem.”

Francis almost trips on his own shaky legs on the way to the bathroom.

▲

James still can’t believe that it’s finally happening and how incredibly good it all feels. 

He loves Francis so much that most of the time he’s scared by the force of his own feeling, and he loves Dundy because he’s one of the pillars of his life; he loves fucking Francis, he absolutely loses his mind for Francis fucking him, and he loves making love to him; it’s been a while, but he still remembers what it was like to have sex with Dundy, and Christ, he hadn’t noticed it, but he has missed it like crazy.

“Keep me warm,” he moves over Dundy as soon as Francis gets off the bed. “How do you plan to do that?”

Dundy just stares at him for a moment. Then, he brings him down and kisses him surprisingly sweet, threading his fingers in James’ hair at the back of his head. He makes them roll on their sides so that he can push a leg in between James’. 

He moans in the kiss, grinding his leaking cock against his hip.

“God, you’re so warm already,” Dundy whispers on his lips in a reverent voice that makes something in James’ chest burst. His hands run everywhere on him, making goosebumps erupt on his skin. “You feel so good.”

“Missed you too.” James whispers on his neck, feeling his erratic heartbeat under his lips. His perfume and scent are so familiar and comforting, stronger now, with a hint of sweat.

Dundy brings him back for a languid kiss that makes him moan and grind down on him, their erections together.

“I forgot what it was like,” Dundy cups the back of his head and looks at him, “to be with you.”

They’ve never been sentimental with each other, not even when they used to have sex and be together all the time, but now Dundy is looking at him, truly looking at him and James has missed him like hell and he loves him, he will always love him, both of them knows it, but James loves Francis too, and that’s a different kind of love, not because it’s bigger, or more important, or more relevant than what he feels for Dundy, but because James is _in love_ with Francis. Dundy knows it, they both know it, and it’s fine like this, or so James thought, because now Dundy is looking at him with stars in his eyes, as if James has just reached for the moon and brought it down for him.

He has no words for what he would like to say, so he does his best to make him understand what he means through gentle touches. 

He kisses his Dundy chastely, very gently, telling him “ _I know what you mean and it’s the same for me, even if I’m in love with someone else, even when you’ll fall for someone else, this will always stay with me_.” He caresses his face with a light touch, stroking his thumb on his cheekbone. He feels Dundy’s smile under his fingertips and lips.

Then, he seems to get back to his usual self and deepens the kiss while turning them over once again, pinning James on the bed with his body. He grinds his hips down on him, both of them sighing heavily in the kiss. 

Both of Dundy’s hands go to his hair, petting him, grazing his nails on his scalp, making him shiver. He licks into his mouth, their legs so tightly tangled with the others’ that they’re perfectly connected from head to toe. 

It feels so good to finally have all this skin to skin contact and even if James can’t wait for Francis to be back, he cherishes these few minutes at their fullest, famished for these moments with Henry.

James bites at his bottom lip the way he remembers he loved it, and it indeed makes his dick twitch in between their bodies. 

“Dundy.” He sighs, asking for more, face burning for how much he wants this.

He feels the mattress dipping next to him and suddenly both Francis and Dundy are on him and he could scream for how good it feels.

▲

Francis is as quick as possible in brushing his teeth, but still makes sure to do it thoroughly, since he’s planning to kiss the fuck out of both those wonderful men currently waiting in his bedroom doing God knows what kind of amazing things to one another. 

He should probably feel a bit ridiculous as he is, standing naked in his bathroom with a slightly flagging erection, looking drunk on sex as a man his age shouldn’t probably be, but his excitement makes everything else feels unimportant and he couldn’t care less.

When he goes back to the bedroom he’s greeted with one of the hottest scenes he’s ever seen in his life.

The amount of exposed skin hits him first. He hasn’t really took the time to admire it before, since he was quite literally in the middle of it, but now that he’s standing a few feet away from them, he actually has the chance to admire how beautiful James and Henry look together, completely naked in each other’s arms, pale skin and long legs tightly entwined, mouths bitten red and shiny with saliva, James’ hair grazing Henry’s face as he rocks against him, the flush on their chests matching.

They’re holding each other so tightly that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins and they look blissed out sucking on each other’s tongues, completely lost in it, gently rocking against one another, with no precise intention, but to feel the other and wring the pleasure out as much as possible, making them crazy with it. 

Henry cups James’ ass and, Francis suspects, he strokes a finger or two on his slicked opening, judging by the way it makes James sigh. Henry says something on his lips and James answers in a whisper, without even opening his eyes because they're so close that it would be pointless. It’s clear that they know each other by heart.

Francis is probably the luckiest man on earth.

He would love to keep watching, take a hundred pictures of them together, take a video of them grinding against each other like this, because it’s definitely the best kind of porn (but also, work of art) he’s ever seen and his once again hard dick proves it.

On the other hand, not touching them seems blasphemy when they’re right here, all for him. 

He goes back to the bed as if in trance, feeling like he’s walking on clouds. 

“Dundy...” He hears James whispering once he’s closer. He’s cupping Henry’s face with great gentleness, rolling his hips down to meet him.

It takes them a couple of seconds to really take notice of Francis, but when they do Henry gives him a look that he has trouble understanding and he kisses him so hard it almost feels like a punch. Francis moans under the assault and then again from pain when Henry bites at his bottom lip.

“Fuck—” He complains. Or begs for more. 

He grabs Henry by the arms, trying to stop him.

“Francis.” James sighs, interrupting their kiss (or their fight made of kisses) by turning his face toward him and kissing him, with both hands on the sides of his neck, whining in his mouth like a lost puppy. He moves from Henry’s body, kneeling on the bed like Francis, so that he can embrace him and kiss him and be as close to him as possible. He takes Francis in hand and he almost shouts for how good it feels, after having been hard for so long with no attention to his prick. He licks into James’ mouth wildly, grasping at his biceps for support. Henry embraces James from behind, burying his face in his hair. He wraps a hand around James’ leaking cock, making him sob on Francis’ lips and he can’t stop the bucking motion of his hips.

“Dundy…” James hides his face in Francis’ neck and places a hand on Henry’s, “Don’t. Too much.”

“‘s okay.” Henry whispers, pepping his shoulders with kisses. Francis does the same with James’ face, torn in a suffering expression from the excess of pleasure. 

“What do you need?” Henry asks, kissing in between his shoulder blades, “What can we do, me and Francis, for you?”

“Tell us, love.” Francis kisses his forehead. James’ skin burns under his lips, his eyelashes flutter on Francis’ chin. “Shall I use my mouth on you too? Maybe while Henry uses _your_ mouth?”

It makes them both groan. Henry looks at him with huge eyes. “Yeah, Jas, would you like it?” He whispers against his ear, “I remember how much you loved to suck me off.”

James twists his neck to the side, meeting Henry in an open-mouthed, messy kiss.

“I need to cool down a moment,” he looks at Francis, “but I have an idea. Lay down.”

Francis arches an eyebrow at him, but he’s not going to complain when his boyfriend looks at him like _that_. 

He lays on his back, stroking himself a couple of times, aching with how hard he is. Both Henry and James follow his movements with their gazes, Henry resting his chin on James’ shoulder, licking his lips.

“What’s your idea?” He asks, still looking at Francis with no shame whatsoever.

James turns to face him and God, they’re _incredible_ like this, kneeling on the bed, erections casually catching on one another with their every movement. Francis can’t resist the urge to touch himself again.

James places his lips against Henry’s ear and hides behind a cupped hand like a kid would do while telling his friend a secret. He whispers something Francis has no chance to catch, so he studies Henry’s reaction instead: his eyes shoot up to Francis, his face opens up in a wide grin.

“Yeah.” He says, turning his face to kiss James on the lips, “Fuck, absolutely, you beautiful genius.”

“Great.” James grins back, kissing him too.

“Care to share your evil plans?” Francis asks, not at all troubled with the secrecy— quite the contrary, in fact: it’s kinda crazy that these two gorgeous men are plotting something that not only concerns Francis, but has its focus on him.

“You’ll see in a moment.” James smiles, lowering down on him. 

He starts by kissing his stomach and going up. Henry does the same, adjusting himself in between Francis’ legs, kissing his inner thigh. His sideburns prickle against his skin, unused as he is to it, since James keeps his face perfectly shaved all the time. It makes him flush, for some reason. 

Both James and Henry keep going higher with their kisses and Francis tries his best to keep quiet and still, but it’s a bit difficult considering how fucking _good_ having two amazing men lavishing him with attention feels like. 

James kisses his chest with clear mischief in his eyes, smiling like a siren before a sailor and Francis is ready to let himself be sung to death by him.

“Christ—” He swears when Henry’s mouth reaches his groin, his breath right on his balls.

Henry’s lips part as he takes him in hand, making Francis hiss with relief. He starts by stroking him slowly, mostly just holding him still so he can lick at the underside.

Francis groans and reaches up at James with a hand and down at Henry with the other. Then he thinks better of it and moves it on his shoulder, not sure if the man might like having his hair messed up.

“I’m not fragile.” Henry says, voice low. He touches Francis’ hand, “Go on.”

Francis places it on the back of his head and Henry rewards him with a long lick on his cock, from the base up to the tip, suckling it in his mouth. He moans around it.

“Fuck—” Francis arches on the bed, his face against James’ cheek, “James is not the only one who loves to suck cocks, mnh?”

Henry looks up at him, breathing heavily through his nose.

James lays against his side, rocking against Francis’ hip while he kisses his shoulder and neck, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose red with hot blush. 

Francis is having a hard time, quite literally, because he can’t stop looking at him, but he also can’t stop looking at Henry.

“James.” He pants, fingers twisting in his hair.

“You look so good like this, all for us to please.” James says, rubbing his erection against him. He can distinctively feel the wet smear of precome it leaves on his hip.

“We’re going to make you feel so good.” James mutters on his lips.

“Yeah? What do you plan to do?” He looks down at Henry, who’s enthusiastically licking his cock with half-lidded eyes, as if it were the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

“You’ll see. You’re gonna love it.” James whispers on his lips, “And you’re going to fuck me after.”

It’s not a question. Francis nods at once.

“Yes.” He says, “Slow and deep, just how you like it, mhh?”

A sound comes from Henry and they both look down at him. He’s panting around Francis’ cock, a single lock of hair falling in front of his eyes. He pushes it back with an impatient move, letting Francis slide out of his mouth.

“You still like it like that, Jas?”

“Yes.” He moves down, touching Henry’s face. “Still my favourite. Fills me up so well.”

Henry hums, “I remember how pretty you looked like that.”

James frames his face with his hands and kisses him hard and deep, moaning as he tastes Francis on him. He kisses him so well that Henry actually forgets to touch Francis, holding onto James’ hips to pull him closer instead. The way his big, elegant hands look on James’ narrow hips makes Francis feel like he’s about to pass out even if he’s laying down. He strokes himself -his cock still slicked and straining from Henry’s attentions,- and enjoys the show, admiring how James touches Henry with enthusiasm and care in equal parts, how Henry cups his face but pulls at his hair as well, leaving him breathless.

James interrupts the kiss to bite and nibble at Henry’s chin, both of them trying to regain some control.

“Back to your plan.” Henry says, his chest raising under heavy breaths. He grins at James and lowers down on Francis once again, wasting no time now, immediately taking his cock back into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed.

Francis doesn't even have time to swear or ask himself what James is going to do, because his partner joins Henry and suddenly there are two tongues lapping at him.

“Christ— _fuck—_ ” Francis amost shouts at the feeling of both their mouths on his painfully hard erection. 

For a moment he’s tempted to just cave in and come, so that he could watch their handsome faces getting dirty with his release (it would catch on Henry’s long eyelashes, on the bridge of James’ nose, on their joined hands around his prick). He resists it instead, and blindly pushes his hands in the covers, trying to anchor himself.

James chuckles, but the sound turns into a moan when Henry kisses his lips and the head of Francis’ prick, together. James does the same, so that they’re basically kissing _on_ Francis’ cock. 

This must be Heaven, there’s no other explanation for what Francis is living. He can’t tear his eyes away from them, from James stroking his cock while he laps at the head and Henry’s tongue both, while Henry brings a hand to the side of James’ face and moans deeply, sounding wrecked with pleasure.

Their joined breaths on Francis are almost too much, he has never felt this much pleasure— or, to be precise, he has (every time he’s deep in James’, every time James is buried in him and he sighs “Francis, Francis,” and “Francis, you feel— I— good, _so_ good,” moments before spilling into him), but he has never felt two people enjoying this along with him, not at the same time. Two people wanting to please him and asking nothing in return, at least for the moment, looking euphoric from the pleasure of having him under their tongues, just happily sucking and licking at him, playfully pushing each other off him, as if Francis’ cock were a delicious treat they can’t possibly get enough of. 

They lose themselves in licking each other’s cheeks and chins and even the tip of their noses (“Dundy, what… _nhh_ —”, Henry silences James by sucking a mark on the side of his neck), alternating laps to Francis’ erection, to sucking at each other’s tongue without even moving an inch back from him. 

They’re much louder now that they’re both lost in the hazy pleasure of give and take, the room filled with the sounds of three people moaning and breathing hard.

Henry rests his forehead against James’ temple at some point, panting a “Fuck…”, looking like he’s about to cry from everything he’s feeling. James chuckles and shamelessly licks at his cheek. 

They’re both a mess of saliva and precome by now, and look like sin incarnated.

Henry abandons Francis’ cock to bring both hands -the one he had on Francis, now dirty with his and James’ spits and Francis’ precome,- on James’ face, stealing him for a messy kiss. James’ cock twitches and smears his own stomach with a fat bead of fluid, and this is when it becomes too much for Francis and he distinctively feels his orgasm starting to build up, his cock hard as a rock and the need to bury it in one of them (possibly James, always James, but he wouldn’t mind Henry at all) almost unbearable, so he sits up and grabs Henry by the hair, his hands itching.

"Stop kissing him so much," he warns him, with no real anger in his voice, but still reminding him who’s whose, "That's for me to do."

He gives him no chance to answer but crashes their mouths in a kiss that’s not meant to be gentle. Henry groans weakly and lets Francis' tongue into his mouth quite easily.

“Christ.” He hears James moan, “I need to come. Badly.”

“How are we doing this?” Henry asks, panting. “I wouldn’t mind fucking you. Either of you.”

“You’re not fucking me.” Francis bares his teeth, feeling drugged on sex and a hint of possessiveness. “Not tonight.”

Henry’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips. “Is that a promise?”

He’s about to answer back when James speaks.

“I want you to fuck me.”

They both turn to him.

“Who?”

James swallows, his face flushed as much as his cock. “Both of you? Together?”

He sounds almost shy.

“Fuck.” Francis says.

“Yeah, same.” Henry agrees, breaking the tension.

James smiles and reaches for Francis’ back and Henry’s hand. 

“Are you sure about it?” Henry asks, “Fine to me, trust me, but are _you_ sure?”

“Yes.” James nods at once. “I can take it. Both of you.”

“We’re not going to hurt you, James.” Francis says, trying not to think with his cock. God, he hadn’t even thought about this. It’s something a bit wilder than what he’s used to, something that he’s always relegated to the unreal universe of porn, not his own sex life.

James had, obviously, followed a different train of thoughts.

“I know you won’t.” James nods, looking at him. He looks pretty lucid about this. More lucid than what Francis feels, anyway. That’s good.

“But that’s _a lot_ .” He insists without even knowing why, since a big part of him is screaming _‘yes! Yes, let’s do this right fucking now!”_

“I know.” James insists. He blushes even more, if possible, and adds: “But as I said, I can take it. I’ve been... practicing.”

Henry almost shouts, “With _who?_ ”

“ _No one_ , you idiot.” James chuckles, fondly. Then he looks at Francis and says, in a small voice, “Remember that new toy I showed you?”

Of course Francis remembers. A couple of weeks ago James had sent him a picture of his last purchase: possibly one of the most impressive dildos Francis has ever seen, sleek black, low and fat, its girth so wide it made it look scary. James had texted him a picture of him suckling the tip (needless to say, Francis has jerked off furiously while texting back a string of nonsenses that had James calling him to make him hear how much he liked it) but that has been the end of it: James told him he would wait for “the right moment” to experiment with it and hadn’t mentioned it since, and Francis hadn’t insisted, because he knows how much James loves to tell him in great details about his solo sessions, so he just had to wait.

“You filthy boy.” He all but grunts and kisses him hard. 

James moans in surprise, smiling on his lips.

“Trust me,” he says when they part, “I know I can take it. Do I have to beg or something?”

Henry smiles and kisses him on his hair, surprisingly sweet and caring, and whispers, “No need. It’s a yes for me.” He looks at Francis, “Yes for you?”

“Yes.” He nods.

Henry smiles, not with one of his shiny grins, but a genuine little smile. 

“We’re stopping if it doesn’t work and you tell us if it’s too much.” He says to James, who nods impatiently.

“Yes, yes, I promise.” He says. “Now _please_ , fuck me.”

Francis goes to lay down on his back with James over him on all fours and Henry behind him. 

James is still lubed up and loose from earlier, (“You were already planning it, weren’t you?” Francis asks, getting a sly grin in return), but not nearly enough for the both of them, no matter how much he insists that he’s been “practicing” (Francis tries not to think about him slowly sitting down on that monstrous dildo, his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping him up—).

“Let’s see if you remember where my G-spot is.” James grins, throwing the bottle of lube at Henry. It hits him in the chest, but he quickly recovers it, squeezing a generous amount on his fingers.

“Oh, I remember alright, don’t worry, Jas.” He grins back, placing a hand on James’ hip to steady him.

James is quite close to Francis like this, his face mere centimeters away from his and Francis can’t resist the urge to stroke his knuckles on his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he nuzzles his face in his palm. When Henry pushes into him, he shushes a surprised groan in Francis’ hand.

“Two fingers right away,” Henry arches an eyebrow, impressed, and licks at his lips, “You really did a nice job playing with yourself.”

“Told you.” James scrunches his eyes closed at the intrusion, but smiles, pleased with himself, “I had a— _ah_ , great time.”

“How much of it did you manage to take?” Francis asks, pushing James’ hair away from his face.

“What do you think?” James asks, eyes glinting. He stares at Francis’ dick, hard and arched over his stomach, in between them. He takes him in hand, eyes fixed on his face while he strokes him, nice and languid. 

“I think you’re a very smart boy.” Francis says. “Very stubborn too and desperate for being stuffed full.”

Francis cups James’ jaw and pushes his thumb on his lips. He obediently parts them and takes it in with a satisfied sigh.

“So I think you managed to get a good amount. Half of it?”

James moans and lets his finger slide out of his mouth. He hides his face in the pillow, next to Francis’ face, panting. “More than half of it.” He chuckles, “I made a mess with myself. Lube everywhere.”

“Of course you did, you filthy boy.” Francis says. From this angle he barely sees Henry, but he can see his arm pistoning into James in an unforgiving rhythm.

“How many fingers are you in?” Francis asks him.

“Three, but I’ll make it four soon.” Henry says, panting a little. “Right, Jas? You can take four easily.”

“Give me four.” He looks behind his shoulder and grins, baring his teeth, “Come on, Dundy.”

“Four it is, baby.” Henry slows his movements to carefully pull out of him and in again, four fingers now. James tenses up, but breathes deeply, forcing his body to relax.

“More lube.” Francis instructs Henry. “Make him loose and wet, like the good girl that he is.”

James whines and arches his back, fucking himself on Henry’s fingers, who tightens his grip on his hip, looking at the back of his head with fervent eyes.

“Fuck, that’s what you like to be called? Still?” He pants. He’s sweating, the flush on his chest evident.

James nods, face hidden in Francis’ chest. 

Henry drapes himself over James’ back, and says in his ear, “Remember how good of a girl you were for me? Are you that good for Francis too, or do you put up a fight sometimes and act like a brat?”

James grasps at the covers. He twists his neck to look at him. “That’s— Dundy... Fuck me, I need it. You.” He grasps blindly at Francis’ hand, “Both.”

Francis strokes his hair -his finger still wet with James’ saliva,- and looks at Henry, “He’s ready.”

“Yes, he is.” Henry caresses James’ hip and slowly pulls his fingers out of him, making him shudder. He lets his forehead drop on Francis’ shoulder. 

Then, Henry has one of those unexpected sweet moments Francis can never anticipate, considering how playful and flirty he and James always act: James whines at the loss of his fingers, so Henry bends over him, wraps a arm around his middle and kisses in between his shoulder blades, just once, with his eyes closed, tender and caring.

It lasts only a second. Then, he smirks at Francis, “Go on. I want to see you two together.”

Francis sits up and helps James into his lap. He makes a wonderful picture like this, frustrated with the intensity of still unreachable pleasure, his eyes liquid, his face a mess with his and Henry’s salivas. There are bite marks on his neck, two on his right shoulder, one under his ribcage, on his side. His gaze is wild with want as he adjusts himself in Francis’ lap, squeezing him in between his thighs. Francis places both hands on them as James reaches back to take him in hand, stroking him a couple of times. 

“Wonderful.” Francis gasps, mad with want and love and lust, “Look at you.”

“No, I just want to look at you.” He says, aligning himself over him. He glances over his shoulder at Henry, who’s stroking himself and looks like he could obey James’ every order. “And you.”

Henry grins at him. “Get on with it so I can join up.” 

James lowers down on him, at last, and God, fuck, it’s like hugging him after a long day, like pushing his face in James’ hair when he wakes up in the morning and James is loose and pliant and smells like himself and Francis too, because they had sex and made love the night before, and Francis feels good and safe whenever he’s around.

Henry disappears from his perception, his reality narrowed down to James and James only, who moans freely, the muscles in his thighs trembling under Francis’ hands.

“Come here.” Francis begs him, “Here, come to me.”

James lowers completely over him, almost collapsing on him, both of them moaning from the change of angle.  
Francis wraps his arms around him, bringing a hand to the back of his head. He tilts his head up, reaching for his lips, but James is dazed with pleasure and the feeling of being fucked, and he barely manages to kiss him, he mostly breathes and pants on his mouth, on his cheek, his gaze slightly unfocused.

“Feels so good.” He whispers and now Francis _has_ to kiss him, so he brings him down and devours him. James makes a sound in the back of his throat, the rhythm of his movements faltering. He must look incredible from Henry’s point of view: Francis pictures James’ back arching and curving, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tight with tension, and the place where Francis disappears into him stretched out, clenching rhythmically around him with every movement.

James starts riding him slow and deep, exactly like he loves it best. His body feels like melted butter around Francis, the slide made easy with all the lube Henry used to finger him open.

James finally seems to regain a bit of control over himself and kisses him hard while he fucks himself on him. Francis pulls at his hair, lightly, just because he can and because he knows James loves it. It makes him moan low in his throat, his hips bucking down as he takes almost all of him in.

“Yes,” Francis feels himself smiling, grinning at him, lightheaded with the feel of him, “Yes, like this.”

James grins back, rosy-cheeked and confident. He breathes hard as he places both hands on Francis’ chest to push himself up and change the rhythm of his movements.

Francis swears, all the air in his body pushed out with the new angle.

James looks like a God like this, riding Francis, knowing exactly how to move, pushing his hair away from his face with a fluid, elegant motion, that curtain of dark waves bouncing in time with his movements. He’s still grinning at him, looking powerful and a bit dangerous like this, like a femme fatale, or a mysterious divinity: someone who would only have to ask Francis for his heart and soul to get them both offered on a silver plate. 

Francis is hopeless to resist him and doesn’t even want to; instead, he meets his thrusts with his own movements, hands tight on James’ hips, lost in their joined movements. Only when James breaks eye contact with him to look at Henry, he’s reminded that it’s not just the two of them here. 

Henry’s on all fours right next to James, eyes fixed on them, his hair sticking to his forehead. He’s viciously tugging at his own cock, which hangs heavily and flushed red in between his legs. He looks almost angry at how hard he is, as if outraged at his own body’s reaction.

“You—two…” He breathes loudly, like an animal ready to attack. He sucks a bite on James’ shoulder, making him moan. 

“You take it so well,” Henry pants, staring at James with wild eyes, “The way he slides into you…Jas...” 

James groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Henry brings a hand behind him and touches where he’s stretched around Francis’ prick. James sucks in a breath.

“Henry.” Francis says, trying to think while James clenches and unclenches around him.

“I’m gonna give you more,” Henry says, eyes on James, “Give you what you want.”

“Yes.” James says, urgently, “Yes—” 

He slows down his movements, until he’s barely rocking on Francis’ cock. He throws his head back to push his hair away from his face and looks back at Henry, “Do it.”

“Fuck.” Francis says. He tightens his grip on James’ hips, looks at Henry: “Do it.”

Henry places a hand on the front of James’ neck, his wide palm covering almost all of it. He makes James turn his face back and kisses him hard while he carefully strokes his outstretched rim. Francis feels it too, every single shift and touch, and if this already feels like a lot he can’t even imagine what having Henry’s cock squeezed against his in James’ tight hole is going to be like. 

There’s more pressure then: James makes a low sound in the back of his throat when Henry pushes in, his finger squeezed tightly against Francis by James’ body. He groans and pants, his thighs trembling under Francis’ hands.

“Christ,” Francis says, trying to keep still, “take it, baby,” he says, unable to tear his eyes away from James, “Let him in too, are you ready to take his cock too? Mmh? Both of us, all of us?” 

James arches his neck back, letting the back of his head on Henry’s shoulder, his face in Henry’s neck. He nods again and again, smiling. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

“That’s right,” Henry whispers on his lips. He moves his finger inside him, carefully but with intention, making both Francis and James groan. “You’re gonna take me so well, let me feel you again after all this time.”

James nods and nods, his leaking cock curved prettily against his stomach. Francis sinks his nails in James’ thighs to stop himself from taking him in hand and stroking him until he comes. God, he’s dreaming of it, but _no_ : they’re going to do something equally mind blowing, all three of them.

“James,” Francis says, “You ready?”

James nods again, moving his face away from Henry’s neck. 

He places both hands on Francis’ chest, adjusting himself, then lifts his hips up. Henry’s finger slips out of him (Henry stares at his own hand, Francis’ cock and James’ hole with wide, hungry eyes) then carefully but surely moves down again, taking Francis back in.

Francis swears, saying something that probably makes no sense, but it makes James chuckle breathlessly and move so that only the head of his cock is still inside of him.

“Ready.” He says. He lowers down on his forearms, face to face with Francis who touches his hair, his lips. James smiles and reaches a hand back. Henry takes it, entwining their fingers. He aligns himself with them.

“Ready.” James repeats, dangerously confident.

Henry nods, quiet, except for his heavy breathing. He uses his finger again, forcing James’ body to stretch out for him again and again, creating space for himself where there is none.

Then, he carefully pushes in. It takes him a couple of attempts, but when he succeeds in making the head of his cock disappear past that first ring of muscles, Francis almost comes on the spot. 

James moans, high and shocked, his forehead dropping on Francis’ shoulder, fingernails biting into Francis’ biceps for how hard he’s holding onto him.

“Fuck—” Henry pants, grasping at James’ hips, “Fuck, ah— James... James.”

The pressure of Henry’s cock against Francis it’s already so much, he feels squeezed tight in a squelching hug, warm and filthy with lube.

He can’t even imagine what it must be like for James. He’s trembling in his arms, sweating and breathing loudly, moaning with no control over himself anymore: he keeps trying to take deep breaths, but never actually succeeds, as if Francis and Henry were so deep in him that they’d taken all the air out of him.

“James,” Francis pants, “too much?”

For a while there’s no answer, but only their panting and breathing to fill the air. James keeps his face hidden against Francis’ shoulder, his breath hot on his skin. Henry is bent over them, looking wretched, his chest flushed, arms shaking with the effort of keeping perfectly still.

Then, James shakes his head. He keeps silent, only focusing on relaxing around what feels like a burning bar splitting him in two.

“Should we stop?” Francis tries to decipher his meaning, ready to immediately put an end to this, but James whines and tightens his hold on him, not moving back, not pushing them away. Then, after a moment, he manages to pant: “F-full.”

Henry swears, letting his head drop down, face buried in between James’ shoulders. “Not hurting you?”

Again, it takes him a minute to speak, as if every word is so much that he has to choose them carefully.

“Yes.” He says. “No.” He says. “It’s—” He takes a shaky intake of breath, “so. Much.”

“It’s okay.” Francis whispers, petting his hair. He pushes it away from his face and finds James with his cheeks strained with tears, his jaw trembling as if he’s about to say something, but keeps stopping at the last moment.

“You’re doing so well,” Francis praises him, “you feel so good. Both of you,” he strokes down James’ back and Henry’s hand joins his.

“Fucking incredible.” He agrees, with a shaky voice, “Just this… Stretching you open like this— you have no idea what you look like, I wish you could see it for yourself.”

James sobs and opens his eyes a fraction. “Dundy…”

He carefully tries to sit up, moving an inch at a time. Francis has to bite hard on his tongue to keep still and don’t come, and he suspects Henry is in the same situation, but both of them help James get on his forearms, then on his hands. 

James’ cock has softened a bit, because of the tension, but it keeps dribbling precome and fluid nevertheless, almost in time with their breaths, the tip glistening with it, almost begging Francis to suck it clean into his mouth. 

“Look at you,” he says, “the mess you made of yourself.”

James looks at him with half lidded eyes and breathes, “Move.” 

He looks overwhelmed with pleasure and pain, Henry has to keep him upright with an arm around his chest, because James is shaking too much and doesn’t seem to have enough strength in his arms.

Francis nods, unable to deny him anything. 

Henry looks at him from over James’ shoulder. He looks both well-fucked and ready to fuck them both into oblivion.

He nods to Francis.

They move slowly. It’s more of a rocking motion than anything and it’s _so much_.

James whines non-shop (“Ah— _Ahh_ ”), breathless, wonderfully sweaty, looking like he has never suffered this much pleasure before. His stomach is tight with tension and the need to come, his movements imprecise and slowed down for how overwhelmed he is.

Francis only lifts his hips in time with Henry, just a touch, but he feels it so deeply, two bodies around him, burning hot, every shift of any of them he feels ten times more.

Henry sucks a mark on James’ neck and it makes James scratch at Francis’ chest, his body jerking under the attention. 

They look so fucking good, both of them a mess, streaks of hair falling in front of their eyes, faces blushed red, eyes unfocused. Henry moans wildly as he sucks and licks at James’ skin, licking the sweat away with a blissed expression on his face, as if it were ambrosia. James’ neck and collarbone are a mess of bitemarks, hickeys and blushed spots.

And James is loud, _so_ loud. 

He normally loves dirty talking and Francis always jokes that he can’t even be quiet in bed, but today he’s completely out of control: he has stopped talking, all of them have, really, because words are too difficult to find right now, but there’s a constant, endless moan coming out of his lips and he sounds both in pain and in pleasure.

“C’mere,” Francis pants, to both of them, caught with the sudden need of touching them, feeling them even _more_. He doesn’t trust himself to sit up without hurting James, so he grasps at their hands instead, pleading that they’ll understand, and they do: Henry helps James to move closer to him, slowly, but it still pushes them against each other even more. James sobs and collapses in Francis’ arms, held by both of them. 

Francis touches everywhere he can reach: he touches Henry’s face and pushes his thumb into his mouth, Henry hollows his cheeks and sucks it while staring at him, his hips rolling with more decision, making James sob and arch his back, pushing his straining cock against Francis’ belly, smearing precome everywhere.

Francis looks at him: at his face, his hair, his neck, covered in saliva, spit, and sweat; at his cock and stomach, wet with his own fluid; there’s a smudge of it on his right hip too and on the top of his thigh, and is probably either his or Henry’s, or both, and Francis tries to picture what a mess his ass might look like right now, with him and Henry and the obscene amount of lube they’ve used, and fuck, it’s so hot, James looks utterly ruined.

He can’t help himself: he licks at James’ cheek, adding mess to the mess, and whispers on his lips, without even knowing what he’s saying: “You’re all dirty,” which apparently was the right thing to say because both James and Henry growl. They’re moving with the same rhythm, perfectly synchronized, rocking back and forth, back and forth on Francis, groaning in unison. Henry squeezes one of James’ nipples in between his fingers and says, “a mess, you’re so filthy, delicious,” and grins almost manically, his pupils huge with pleasure as he pants in James’ ear, eyes locked with Francis. He brushes a hand over James’ tight stomach. It makes him cry out, and it looks like it takes him a great effort to say: “make me” a breath, “come”.

Francis can feel Henry’s hand on his own belly, moving down to take James’ in hand, making him cry out again, whining weakly. He has one the most beautiful expressions of pleasure Francis has seen on him, lips parted, jaw slack. He’s shaking as a leaf in their arms and Francis can’t resist him, never can, so he licks his cheek, his lips, his chin and whispers, “yes.”

It was everything Henry needed. He strokes James once: James clenches hard around them, wailing like a wounded puppy. Henry strokes him again, all three of them moving in unison, fucking each other.

James comes with a shout, crying out high, melting in Henry’s arms, all the tension of the orgasm leaving his body in an instant, making him look like a puppet whose strings got cut. The way he clenches rhythmically around them makes Francis tighten his grip on his hips, leaving angry marks into his skin. James collapses on top of him, trembling violently as if he’s freezing even if his skin is burning hot. His entire body weight is on Francis, a mess of sperm and sweat in between them. 

“Fuck— _fuck_ , I’m—” Henry swears, still fucking slowly and careully into him, tiny little movements in time with Francis’. “Close.”

James is in no condition to answer, but they’ve talked about this, the eventuality of Henry fucking him bare, and they were more than okay with it.

Francis licks his lips. “Come in him.”

Henry groans loudly and rolls his hips a few more times before squeezing his eyes shut as he comes with a wounded noise. When he’s at the peak of it, his hips give a tiny little jerk upward that makes James sob in Francis’ hair, boneless against him. Francis grasps at them both while he cherishes the last instants of this, before giving in and finally, finally he lets his neck arch back and lets it go. 

The relief is so strong it almost makes him weep: letting go of all the tension after so long feels like bliss, and his and Henry’s come make everything even more wet and obscene. He feels a bit of it glide down on his still pulsing cock, on his balls. 

He comes back to himself a moment later, his head feels stuffed with cotton, his limbs heavy and achy. James is nuzzling his face in his hair, breathing heavily, still making those little sounds, trying to regain his breath, and Henry looks ready to pass out as he caresses James’ shoulder and whispers “going to move back,” and carefully slips out of him with a groan. James shivers and pushes his face against Francis. One of his hands goes to his own back, as if to prevent any more stimulation. 

“You’re a mess here.” Henry says, almost to himself, looking at his outstretched hole, clenching around Francis as if to prevent he too will leave.

Then, he lets himself fall heavily on the bed next to them, not bothering with cleaning himself up, for the moment. He takes a long breath and closes his eyes.

“Darling,” Francis whispers, “can you move?”

James answers with a groan. Henry strokes his back soothingly with a hand, a barely-there thouch. James shivers.

“I…” James says, but doesn’t finish. Francis strokes his back gently, giving him all the time he needs.

At length, he pushes himself carefully up and lifts his hips, reaching back to help Francis out of him. He moans, overstimulated, and Francis feels one last shock of pleasure. A mess of come and lube glides down James’ thighs. He makes a displeased face at that. “God. I _am_ filthy.” 

He collapses in between them, heavy limbed and sated. 

Francis blindly grabs one of the washcloths he has placed on the nightstand earlier -he was hoping they would end up making a mess of each other,- and wipes as best he can at himself. He hands Henry a clean one too, before James steals his from his hands. Francis leaves a kiss on his nose.

“How do you feel?” He asks him, as James wipes at his stomach without even opening his eyes. 

“Mmmh.” He considers. He looks at Francis then, and turns his head back as he can, looking at Henry. He takes notice of his body, aching in a familiar, but different way. “Like I won’t sit down or walk for a week.”

It makes all three of them giggling and then laughing almost wildly, the endorphins and tiredness making them feel drunk. Henry hides his face in James’ shoulder blades, James hides in Francis’ pillow, while Francis has his face in his own hands.

When they eventually calm down, James reaches back for Henry, taking his hand and wrapping his arm around himself. “Please don’t make me turn around,” he says, which causes another round of almost hysterical laughter.

“I promise I won’t,” Henry says, still chuckling softly. He envelopes James in a tight hug, leaving one single kiss on his cheek, making him smile softly. He looks even younger like this, still red-cheeked and radiant from his orgasm.

“You too,” Henry says to Francis, “Come here, let me give you a last, very thankful kiss.”

Francis shakes his head, smiling, and gives him a peck on the lips. Henry lets himself fall back on the bad, visibly satisfied.

Once both James and Francis have assured Henry that yes, of course he can stay the night (“Dundy, don’t be an idiot, stay here. I’m already half asleep, see? You can’t leave”), and cleaned themselves up, they get under the covers, James tucking himself in between them once again.

Francis feels like he’s going to sleep for an entire day, the wonderful post-sex ache still buzzing deep in his bones. 

He’s watching James falling asleep without even meaning to, when Henry whispers, “Take care of him.”

He lifts his gaze on him. Henry is looking at him, face serious as he has never seen him before. For a moment, Francis feels like answering back, when Henry adds, “I know you do care for him. But still. Be careful.” He looks at James and his gaze softens.

“You don’t have to tell me how to do this.” Francis says, a bit piqued, “I have no intention of hurting him.”

It looks like Henry wants to say something, but ends up swallowing it down. At length, he only whispers, “I know.”

His hand brushes delicately on James’ hip. 

Francis pushes James’ hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

He falls asleep looking at his face, slacked with sleep and listening to Henry’s breath, matching James’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- WE DID IT MY FRIENDS!!! this was so hard to write for some reason? But I’m very glad i finally finished it!
> 
> \- I couldn't resist, i HAD to add that little part with james’ POV ;_; fitzconte rights
> 
> \- [RT](https://twitter.com/downeymore/status/1360964313889075200?s=20) \+ [reblog](https://caravaggiosbrushes.tumblr.com/post/643106870973857792/triangle-making-love-in-three-dimensions)! and come screaming about these three with me please 
> 
> \- Every one of your kudos and comments make Dundy come back for another night of fun times ;)
> 
> \- Thank you so much for reading <3 i hope you liked it just as much as they liked it eheh


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